Requiem Fox
by MS-Manuscript
Summary: An assassin fox from the north flees a warridden life to make a new start in Mossflower. That isn’t his first plan, but it’ll do him fine. If only the Badger Lord and Father Abbot would trust that he means no harm. Violence and swearing, don't own Redwall
1. Two if by Sea

I do not own Redwall.

_The rosy finger of dawn stuck its glorious red tinted face through the darkened shuttered window…_

Recu glared at the line, snapped the book closed, and threw it carelessly to the side, where it hit the wall and fell into the hole in the floor, leading to the furnace in the basement. Without even looking to see if the bound paper made it, Recu grabbed another book, stretching one leg out from his crouch, and flipped it open.

_Her illustrious eyes locked with his, making the world around them drop away as though…_

Ugh, why did he ever buy these books?! Another toss, another book. And so went the pattern, either the book would burn or would, by some miracle, be put in a stack beside the shelf he was cleaning. He had been at this for hours, in a room full of nothing but shelves and books. He never looked out the window, knowing all he'd see was a forever smoky gray sky with its forbidden rain coating the streets and roof tops. If he had, he would have known what would have come next. And it would have saved him so much trouble.

Glass broke; blood splattered the walls, covered the books, and stained the hard won carpet. From the floor, Recu looked up at his attacker, one brow raised, hand paws pinned to the thick fabric that covered the floor.

"And that 'twas meant to prove something? That ye can break yon window and get I on mon carpet? Good thing 'tis red, yes? Or ye'd be paying for new rug." Without another word, the fox kicked up, into the stoat's middle, flipping him up and over his head where he hit the wall. Sliding upright, Recu turned back to his shelf, crouching again, going through more books. He seemed oblivious to the gash across his chest from the stoat's knife that had been aimed to kill him. He _wasn't_ oblivious to the dead vermin, neck snapped in the corner of the room. Hitting a wall upside-down will lend hazardous effects to the body.

After another two hours of sorting and burning and stacking, the fox stood, stretching until his back popped, and bristled out his redbrown fur. Laying everything back in its place; be it fur or book, he stepped over the stained carpet, and bent to look at his attacker.

"Now, ifn the authorities showed up, I'd be in much trouble over ye, yes? I think 'tis a wise thought to get ye offn mon floor." With that, he grabbed the shoulders, and picked the large vermin up with little problem, standing over the hole in the floor. "Oh, silly I. Ye be too big to fit through yon pipe. Well, 'tis I that must fix this, yes?"

A scythe produced itself from under his black cloak, where it made quick work sheering off paws and tails and snouts. One by one, appendages fell into the ever lit fires below, until all that was left was a torso. The scythe was good, but not good enough to cut through something so thick without room to swing and gain momentum.

"Now lookit what ye done. I've had to switcheth mon weapon, yes. Letus see now, how's an axe suit ye?" The blades changed faster than a hawk's eye could see, and the steel axe shore the last of the body into manageable chunks for the burning. The task was done with such practiced ease it was clear he had done this before. Recu Foxer was an assassin. The walls, the carpet, even the book covers were all dyed red, in anticipation for something just like this, and they had done their job well over the many attacks Recu had received. It's sad, really, how jealous other assassins could be of their better.

"Well, lookit now, now ye've done it. Ye've made me late to mon ship. I need to find another now, yes. Ye was a bothersome stoat for I, yes."

Wiping the blood from his paws onto his blood-rust fur, the fox picked up the heavy haversack of books, food, clothes, and medical supplies; heaving it onto his back, furrowing his brow in annoyance as the scab on his chest pulled. He never bled much, and the cut the stoat caused was no different. But now it was time for him to leave. Like any good killer for hire, he knew when to leave a place. Though, he'd miss the carpet, and the handy furnace. Checking that his trade tools were hidden nicely from view by his cloak, he covered his tall ears with the hood, and slid out of the war-plagued building, out of the war-plagued town, and onto a ship bound for the un-war-plagued world beyond the North Sea.

"Well, will ye lookit here. 'Tis snowing yes. Ye left at a good time for I Cap'ain." The corsair rat spat over the railing of the ship, laughing at the fox's statement.

"Yous lived 'ere long 'nuf to know 'tis not snow fool. And I left not fer ye."

"Oh, I know that Cap'ain. The ashes of thousands and millions of innocents float through yon air; rat, badger, ferret, mouse, they all be the same, yes? 'Tis a stupid reason to fight yon war. Yea, 'tis only the wise thatn survive. Ifn ye be kind to I, I might helpn ye to get… adjusted… when ye and I reach yon shore, yes? Ye is a _wise_ beast, yes?"

"I's no idear what yer said Foxer, but 'tis sounds li'e yer tryin' ter help me. Ifn yer shake on it, I'll gives yer 'alf a day's more rations."

"'Tis sounds lovely, yes. Ye be a wise beats after all." Red met gray, and the two shook over extra food and a promise to help when the new world came into view. Too bad only one of the shakers actually was a beast of his word, though neither would be able to uphold their end of the bargain.

Days later, far over the North Sea, in an old volcano that was long since extinct, the Badger Lord Milkeye twirled his new weapon. It wasn't his namesake, but it kept him busy on these cold winter days. Milkeye the Quick Axe. Few could match him in speed and accuracy with his chosen tool of battle; a large, hefty double edged broad axe. It hung from his belt, well polished and lovingly worn. It was a beautiful giant compared to the newest creation.

The staff was a beautiful weapon in its own rights, with ornate carvings and polished flint stones. But it was plain, and rather small for a badger's paw. It was a staff, like any other, but with some changes. The top was curved, like the back of a fish, and its fin was a sharp curve of flint. The back of the curve was armed in its respects, with back-racked flint teeth like a saw, or shark. The bottom was the counter weight, with a flint circle inset deeply into the wood so only a portion was showing, acting like a razor.

Stained with deep oil, the dark wood grain blazed its ebony polish in the light, the basket weave carved into one of the weights catching and throwing light around the forge. So deep in thought was the Badge Lord with his new toy that he didn't notice a hare behind him until a light touch of a paw to the small of his back.

"Sah, there is a Corsair ship on yonder horizon sah. Looks like it's having some trouble, don'tcha know." Without a word, the badger looked from his brigadier to the window, crossing with the silence of a badger in thought. There it was; the ship. And it did look like it was in trouble. Listing to one side, it limped through the water, dragging one of its sails at its side.

"Serves the vermin right. Gather the Patrol. We'll be their welcoming party." With a bow, the hare left, barking orders when the heavy door behind him closed fully.

"Look h-alive there! By the left me buckos, Patroool, OUT!" The hares of the mountain had been waiting this order since the ship had been seen.

(For weapon, see profile.)


	2. One if by Land

I do not own Redwall. Name: Re-Kuu.

Recu spat out another mouthful of water, struggling to keep afloat. Damnedable rat. Just after their "talk" Recu had retired to his cabin, only to be raised shortly after for the call of the daily rations. Supplies were hard to come by in the now poor world they had been in. But with the promise of an extra half, it was well worth getting into line for something so meager. He had been told to wait until the end of the line, then go in, and get the other half of his food. So while he waited, he finished off his tray, keeping from the others.

Entering the kitchens of the ship, he looked at the captain, who grinned. Instantly, the rat raised his voice.

"Oi! Wat der yer think yer doin'?! Stealing vittles in a famine! Ta tha brig wit yer!" Stunned, Recu put up a fight with the crew, all of them rats. Five died before he left the kitchens, and he had almost made it to the edge of the ship to jump when one of the bigger rats threw himself in front.

He was dispatched with a quick upcut of the scythe, the deep red streaked across the blade, spraying its owner with the heavy goo. Recu always hated this part of the job… in truth; he always hated the job in general. The time it took to swing his weapon was enough for a rat to drop from the ropes overhead and catch his scythe, while another grabbed hold of his tail. Then it was just a wave of sea rats on him, pinning him to the deck, taking his battle axe, his scythe, and releasing him of twenty odd daggers. They even took his boots. And threw him in the brig.

Days later, and many meals conveniently forgotten to be given to him, Recu was trying to refrain from being queasy as the ship rocked from side to side in the storm. The rats had been stupid, only taking what they could see. After taking his boots, they were able to find the last of his daggers. All he had now was a small wood hatchet, the (somewhat) empty pouch on his sash, and his haversack of books and herbs. Wonderful. Well, at least he had something to read.

Looking up from his page and closing his eyes, he tried to still his empty stomach, wishing that the storm would sink the damn ship already. Pulling his sack over, he dug to find the right herb, sucking and chewing on the leaf once he had it. It helped little, but at least it was something. A few minutes later, he felt his fur stand on end and his body go ridged, jittery, and there were white-hot dots all over the ship walls that were within his vision. As quickly as it came, the sensations were over. Looking around, he found nothing odd…

Except that the bars were steaming.

One touch proved them to be hot enough to burn. He held his paw into the water that was quickly starting to pool at the hem of his cloak to cool the appendage. The ship had been struck by lightning. There was a hole, about the size of his four paws put together, in the cell across from his.

The ship had been hit hard by the storm.

The metal in ship had knocked a hole in the hull; one of the nails had shocked him.

And it was now sinking.

And that's how he found himself fighting to keep his head above water. The ship was leaning to one side, his side, so that he was more underwater than the other half of the brig was. Tugging his sash off, he check that he had his haversack, his hatchet, and his pouch. Good; everything was intact. Tying the sash on the outside of his cloak, he pinned the dark fabric over his pack and other valuables, making sure nothing could get caught in the water, trapping him.

Taking one last deep breath he ducked underwater before it topped his ears, and swam to the bottom. Now that the water was taking the weight it should be easy to pop the hinges. The hatchet made quick work of the planks under the door, just enough for him to wedge himself under it, and push upwards. Low and behold, the door shifted up and fell outwards to the cell. Perfect. Swimming to the ladder that led to the upper decks had never been easier.

What he found up top was utter chaos. Most of the rats had been waiting for grub, and had fried when the ship was hit; but the rest were running around, trying to find a way to get off the ship with everything they could. Looking at the mainmast that was now dragging in the water, broken and held by just a few splinters; he found the twisted, melted, charred remains of his scythe. Stupid vermin. They had wanted to expose the blade to the weather and salt, making it rust and deteriorate, then boast that his main weapon was gone forever.

It had been _their_ lighting rod, and _his_ saving grace. He bowed his head in respect for his dead weapon, and then quickly went about his way to take stock of where on the sea they were. One look was all it took. There was the shore, not too far from them. And behind it, framed by the storm clouds that had freed him, was a huge mountain cone. Salamandastron. He had heard of it in his studies before the war broke out. As welcoming as the Badger and the Hares were believed to be, if anyone even _looked_ like a vermin, they'd be killed on sight. This wasn't good for him. He was a traveler now; he had left the world of an assassin, never wanting to use his scythe or other blades to kill again.

Was it so hard to ask for a retired life on a farm?! Claws gripped both of his ears, and pulled him down. Wrenching himself free, he twisted 'round, hatchet in paw. Ah, the captain!

"Ye have done I a great injustice, yes." Recu hissed, glaring at the rat. Half the fur was melted off his skull, and he looked crazed with fear and pain. Pity was all that filled Recu, but he kicked the corsair away from him none-the-less. "However, ye have saved mon life, so I shalt hurt ye not. Go, flee yon ship, yes. Yon hares will slaughter all found on yon ship, run." The pirate wouldn't listen though, and threw himself on the fox.

"Yer ta one tha' brought ther cursed scythe 'ere. Yer ther one that's got ter die!" Recu didn't even feel the ship, what little of it was left; hit the sand as he and the rat grappled. Kicking, biting, hitting with paws and weapons, the pair were oblivious to the rush of hares that flooded the ship to rid it of the last of the rats.

Captain pulled Recu's ear, locking his teeth around the burnt paw of the fox. In return, he received a sharp kick to the gut, the back of the hatchet knocking against the think skull. Rolling and fighting, growls and yips of pain filled the air as the Long Patrol formed a circle around them. The long-eared beast had yet to see the likes of it, and didn't want to miss anything. A couple of them were placing bets on the fighters. Milkeye pushed through the crowd, and eyed the duelers.

"Get off I ye flea-bag, yes! I be not curs-ed! Ye thieving vermin ways beith what struck ye, not I!"

"Yer foxer, yer brought it to mah ship! Such a gentle beast, killun the likes o' usins." Recu dragged the blade across the rat's back, only to get a claw gouged into his face. Taking the rat's head in his paws, the fox kicked him in the middle again, twisting to make himself on bottom. With a crack, the neck broke, and the body fell boneless onto him. Breathing heavily, Recu quickly shoved it off, and scrambled to his footpaws; holding the hatchet ready and counting a rough estimate of the foe-beasts around him.

"I am not here to hurteth ye! I am here as traveler, I will not fight ye if'n I do not have to, yes." He called, throwing his hatchet into the deck, where the head sunk into the wood, and the handle snapped into two. It was useless now. Standing strait, he challenged the ring to attack him with a silent look.

"We're not goin' to harm yew, foxer. Not after that show." Milkeye smirked and strode forward. "But you're comin' with us'ns nice and quietly, see? Yew got a lot of questions ta answer. Are ye comin', or dew I hafta drag ya?" Recu looked the badger over, and nodded.

"If ye lend me yon water skin, Lord, I'll come with ye to yon hellgates and back, yes." The badger looked at his brigadier, who nodded, and tossed the fox a water skin. With a barely heard 'Thank ye.' The water was gone, and the fox passed it back before the hare knew it.

"Lead yon way for I, yes."

Three days later, the assassin was sitting in a small room, looking out at the sea from his barred window. Even though he came willingly, they still put him in a prison just to be sure. Not that he minded, at least this one wasn't rocking. A kindly, fat hare maid stepped in, the door locking again behind her.

"Here you are, sah Foxer. Vegitabel soup, dontcha know!" She handed him the mug, which he sipped with a small smile.

"Thank ye, Dewdrop. 'Tis kind of ye to get yon food for I, yes. Is yon Badger Lord ready to question I yet?"

"Nah, I thinkin' he wants ta make sure yewr healthy an' all, wot wot. Yew was pretty thin when yew came ta us."

"That happens when one is locketh in yon rat brig. And there was little food to start with. Yon mountain has much scoff, yes."

"Yew sound like yew came from a blinkin' famine chap, wot. Yew dinna have food like this up north?"

"Nay, mon home was in a war with a vermin tribe from yon south. Ash blocketh sun, no food grows. Ash all time, cover everything; ash of friends, family, foe. All same, no different, yes." The hare and the fox talked for a while yet, talking of pasts and hope for the future, until a rap from the door called Dewdrop away.

"Well now, my pretty." Milkeye looked at his interrogator from the anvil he was sitting on. "Wot has he told yew today?"

The hare recounted, offering things she had inferred, and her thoughts on the fox's character.

"We can trust him." She stated.

"Hmm." The Badger Lord stood, pacing and stroking his stripe. He had been learning everything from his "Spy" the last few days, and what he had heard of Recu had pleased him.

"Bring him to me; methinks it's time to give him what my fore-masters have told me."


	3. And I on the Opposite Shore will be

Recu's eyes watched as the door opened. He knew this was coming, how could he not? He had looked up just long enough to make sure it was the Badger Lord, and then dropped the rust to the page again.

"Ye-" Recu held up a paw, silencing the surprised badger, taking in the printed words. Blinking in confusion, Milkeye looked at his general, then to the fox stretched out on the cot. The paw fell, slowly, slowly, coming to rest on the edge of the cloth covered wood just as he snapped the book shut, missing his nose by a hair.

"Thank ye; 'tis a book of good, yes. Many not survived the ship, no, so all me have is all me have." Slipping it in his pack as he stood, Recu brushed his trousers smooth before standing strait, bowing, then returning to neutral. "What brings yon Lord to mon cell?"

Milkeye wasn't even sure if he should say anything. The fox was a strange one, which he could tell. Though, he had never seen anything quite this strange before. Clearing his throat he rubbed his white eyes a bit before patting his stripe.

"Yer first language ain't ours, huh?"

"Non, mon family learned it second."

"Ri… come." That was it? Come? A simple command was all that was required of him? Sure, he could deal with that. Kicking his sack under the cot he stepped carefully through the hall of hares. They watched him, untrusting, as he followed their leader through the mountain stronghold. A fox, he was talking to a _fox_. Like an equal. Like it wasn't some vermin that could kill him. The Long Patrol lined the wall, and all of them had seen as this fox had broken a rat's neck. Sure, it was a badger he would be up against this time. But it didn't make the fox any less dangerous. It was a vermin with brains.

Milkeye closed the door behind Recu, locking them both in the forge room. His safe-haven. All his troops were outside; locked out, unable to come to his aid should he need it. Recu stood in the middle of the room, waiting to be told what to do. Milkeye stood, watching, sizing up his opponent. Half-dried rust-blood fur. There was no color else on this creature, his belly, his head, his snout, his tail, even his paws were the same bland red-brown. Even his eyes blood-like. The only color was his black nose.

Long ears, long tail that had to curl at his foot paws lest it drag on the ground, long whiskers, long limbs… everything about this fox was built for movement, speed, stealth. He had made fighting and killing a career. An assassin, that's what he had been told. He believed it. Everything from his stance to his fur was about death.

"Foxer."

"Aye, Recu Foxer."

"Assassin expert."

A nod.

"Well, yew gots any plans?"

"Mon dream was farm for mon scythe. 'Tis gone now, yes."

"Farm?! Yew want farm life?"

"Aye."

"But, yer a killer."

"Kill, yes, like? No."

"Yew don' like killin', eh?"

"No."

"Weel, too bad fer yew. I saved yer life, yer gots ta repay me."

Recu's demeanor didn't change. Not even his huge ears twitched, narrow eyes blink… nothing. Milkeye, though, narrowed his white eyes at the creature. Most would protest, or at least look at him funny. But no, Recu didn't move.

"I hads a dream. My father came to me, toulds me yew'd come." Nothing. "Toulds me yew'ds need a weapon, yew'ds save a farm. An' toulds me if'n I said no, my Patrol'd die. Sos, yew gots a weapon, and I wants yew gone."

A weapon? The Badger Lord was going to give him a weapon? Wow, that was amazing! Don't show it, don't show it.

"'Ere." Just like that? A staff was thrust into his paws, the force of the badger making him take a step back. Finally he moved, making the unnerved badger calm down a bit. Recu examined the staff, finding the weight very comfortable. The basket weave, the streamline, the balance. Strange, though, the sudden blocks at both ends. They were clunky, though not unmanageable. It didn't seem to fit. Touching one, Recu was surprised that it shifted.

Taking off one of the caps he was confronted by the sharp flint fish-back blade. Eyes sparkling, Recu moved to the other, finding that it too came off. Blades, sharp, bright… a thin leather thong, soft, flexible, kept the cap to the staff. They were heavy, could be used for whipping. His mind turning Recu recapped them, turning them just a bit so they locked.

He learned quickly, Milkeye noted, as Recu figured out the secrets of the new stick. What Recu saw as cumbersome Milkeye prided himself in. Anyone else would see this as a walking stick. It was perfect, absolutely in his mind.

"Well?"

"Yon expert, yes? Well done." That was it? Such short words for a wordy kind of guy. Milkeye knew that what he had just been told was all he was going to get. He was pleased though. Highest praise an armorer could receive from a knight. Though, this was hardly a knight. "Why?"

"Told yer, yer's saving that farm o'yer's. An' if'n I didn', I'd pay."

"Fair enough, yes. What now, hmm?"

"Get yer pack, grab some vittles, an' get out."

Bowing, Recu held the staff carefully before unlocking the heavy door, slipping out through it, and flying through the now empty hall to his prison cell. Hefting his pack up under his cloak, Recu wrapped the dark violet cloth tightly around him, hiding every scrap of fur. Covering his huge ears and long muzzle with the hood, he leapt out the now un-barred window, and disappeared into the upcoming snow.


	4. Ready to ride and spread the alarm

"Come, Recu, we must move faster_!" The small fox hissed at his son, already taller than himself. The empty alley he was at the mouth of did not respond; instead a lanky figure slid from the shadows, slinking between pots of light to reach his father, once again hidden in the blackness. The long cloak, a third of it dragging on the floor, hid the babe in the darkness. Deep violet mixed with black created a moving living shadow to conceal a secret, though the secret's father was far less hidden. Black clothes only did so much to veil the fat politician, white fur shining in the moonlight. But he didn't have to hide, his child did. They had kept him away from the king so far, but now that he was older, taller, restless, it was harder to do. He had to be moved._

_Recu's red eyes watched as his father glanced around the corner, taking off a moment later. Obediently, he waited as he had been told to, huge ears lingering for the sounds of the okay. They never came. Holding longer than he should have, Recu held his breath as he listened. Finally, he looked around the corner. There was an assassin, standing over the short white fox. His father…_

_Slipping from the alley, Recu took the scythe that was far too big for him out from under his cloak, coming to a rest a paw's length from the murderer._

"**What are you doing here?**_" The rat froze, feeling the huge blade press to his throat. He had been cleaning the blood off his sword, proud that he had been the assassin to kill the traitorous senator. The king would be pleased. Only now, it didn't look so good. Only one beast could handle a blade this huge… Recu. They were supposed to kill the white fox and bring in the red one. The king wanted the red one. Swallowing, fighting the instinct to turn and kill, the rat opened his mouth._

"Yor wanted. By yor father the king._"_

"My father is dead, you just killed him._"_

"Not 'im, the king._"_

"What does he want with me?_"_

"Wat father don't want to see 'is son?_"_

"He's **not** my father._" The blade pulled tighter, the rat feeling blood run down his chest into his tunic._

"Aright, aright, as you say. Either way, the king wants ya._"_

"Why?_" The rat's eyes narrowed._

"'Cause yor betta than us'ns. You was bred for killin'._"_

_The rat never knew of how much of a hero he was. His head was removed from his body before he even got to take another breath. Recu let the corpse crumple to the ground before stepping over it to kneel by his father. Touching the brow above the glazed eyes the fox closed the lids, standing before taking off into the night. First his mother, now his father. All that was left was the king himself. _

_Gargoyles lined the turrets of the tall castle, blotting out the moon in all its full-time glory. But none were more fearsome than the fox scorned sitting among them. A Grim Reaper if ever there was one. Scythe held by dark rust paws, the blade glinted in the moonlight. The crouched figure sat beneath it, covered completely save for his mitts and arms, which were holding his weapon. Dark eyes glittered as they watched the carriage pull up the drive, stopping in the garden below. The horses, huge and plodding, were taken to their stable by badgers that were only just big enough to handle them, the huge king mouse left to walk with his guards back into the palace that he lived in. But not for much longer._

_Just as he had hoped, the king looked up, catching the glint of the death tool. The bells of Saint Andrew's rang out, tolling its sad cry as the shadow moved, dispatching the guards with one fell swoop. Alone with the devil himself, the king took a step back and found a rose bush blocking his escape._

"_You murdered my family!" No need to whisper now, there was no threat here save for the fox himself. Head uncloaked, the fox that came to the king's shoulders glared at the mouse, need in his eyes very clear._

_"Now now, Recu, I am family! I'm your father, not that greasy official. He was only elected after all! Come now, you must come in and sit, we have so much-__"_

_An axe was pressed to his nose, the scythe blade behind him, tip pressing into his back._

_"You liar! You have no idea what you speak of. I was bred for this! I'm the perfect killer, your assassin said so. My mother was too dark, so you mixed her with a white fox to lighten my fur. My mother was a killer, my father was the brains… a perfect mix, to make the perfect killer. You might have made me, but you are not my father.__"_

_"Alright, so I commissioned to have you created. You are still mine Foxer. You will obey your father, your creator.__"_

_"I obey only those who pay the highest.__"_

_"You are no mercenary! You will do no such thing!__"_

_"No, I'm an assassin, the one that killed the king.__"_

_The statement went unheard; the axe embedding itself between the mouse king's eyes. He stood, only by the grace of the young paw that held the axe grip. Yanking the blade away the body fell into the roses, only to be found in the morning by the second wave of guards. By that time, Recu was gone. Ships weren't so bad, when you killed one of the hands that did almost nothing and passed yourself off as him. Good thing everyone thought that all foxes looked the same at night._

Having made it over the snow encrusted dunes Recu took refuge in one of the skeletal trees, sitting in the heart as much as he could and pulling his cloak tightly. It was cold. He was used to cold, of course. But the clothes he had been given weren't made for this cold. His clothes had been ripped and torn beyond repair. Only painstaking hours of mending with what little thread he had had managed to save his cloak. The one his mother had given him, the one she had woven herself. Tracing the delicate threads of deep purple and black, Recu thought back to his mother's face.

Damn that mouse, damn him to hellgates and back! Recu hated him, with all his might. But it was the past, so many winters had passed since then, it was in the past. The staff strapped to his back under the dark cloth Recu hunched over, one eye open as he slept in the tree. He knew he was being followed, knew he wouldn't get very far tomorrow. But at the moment, he could sleep. At least the hares had good taste in clothing; they were long limbed, so he didn't have to change anything. And there was a hole for his long tail. Rabbits and foxes were of similar structure it would seem.

The dawn broke cold wet and early, rousing Recu when the sun rose into his tree. Having not moved all night he was stiff as ever, but did not move. Blinking his other eye open he yawned a bit, ears tuned for the paw steps he knew would be arriving soon. The stupid child thought it would be great to catch the fox. Stupid bunny. However, there were things not even Recu could concur. An hour after sun-up there was no sign of the pursuer. So Recu slid out of the tree, keeping to its dark side, and stretching his long form. Back popping wonderfully he shrugged off his pack, much lighter now than it was when he packed it back home, and sat in the snow to enjoy a scrap of cheese. Strong, but good. The weather was warmer down here, making their cheese's flavor sharper than he was used too. Not bad at all.

Taking a book from his pack Recu munched his breakfast, eyes moving from word to word in wonder of how someone could spend their lives as a scribe and come up with adventures like this. Half way through page three hundred forty eight he put his thumb between the pages, stood, crossed to a bush, and whapped the spine of the book at the only green thing in the forest.

"YEOW!"

"Don't follow I, yes?"

"How'd ya' know?!"

"Mon ears are big as ye's, yes. Yea, ye's paws are huge as logs."

"Ye heard me, hu?"

"Indeed."

The young hare clambered out of the bush, standing a head below Recu. Not happy with this the hare stood his ear's on end… only to find that Recu's were longer. Rolling his eyes the fox turned, sitting by his tree again and opening his book in his lap. Stuffing the last bit of cheese into his mouth he fished in the pocket of his trousers, bringing out a string. Pulling his ears down, he tied them together at the base of his neck as though they were hair, crossing his ankles and picking the book up again.

"Yer not gonna cut me to ribbons? Use my guts fer garters and such?"

"Non."

"Then why'd ya' hit me?!" The fox's eyes glared out their corners at the brown youngling.

"Yon breathing was so loud mon book was hard to hear."

Confused by this the hare sat not far, watching the fox. Something was not right in his attic the hare concluded.


End file.
